October 2006

ASK THE SMART GUY: Monthly column by Dennis Latham.

After missing the airport during 1967 Air National Guard training, G.W. takes out the Ferris wheel and half of a rollercoaster at a local amusement park before his dad took the controls.


Changing Ailerons (Pitch, Roll, and Yaw): we return to a common entertainment of late:

Excerpt From A Book You’ll Never Get To Read

Chapter 7

(From the novel The Presidential Exorcist)

Father Rockerfeller hurried through the foyer, meeting Laura near a door halfway down the long hall.

"Is it bad?" the priest said.

"He's getting worse, Father. He can't be giving advice to Congress in this condition. Do you think prayers will help or do we take more drastic steps?"

"The Church is rather backwards on these matters, Laura. Seeing is believing."

"Then look for yourself," Laura said. She jerked open the double doors. "I can't stand it."

Father Rockerfeller stepped inside and the doors slammed behind him. A shaft of dying sunlight played on the dark wood desk, hiding the possessed one sitting in the gloom behind it. The priest felt a chill. The room was cold. Or was it a lack of faith on his part? No, his faith was strong. Yet, he saw steamy breath drifting in the sunlight shaft, and it was ninety degrees outside. The cold meant so much more.

"Come here, priest," a growling voice said.

Father Rockefeller stepped closer, thrusting a crucifix forward.

"I am going to help the poor. What do you think of that, priest?"

"What? Who are you?"

"I like unions, priest. All unions."

"Stop it. Stop such talk."

"I will take care of veterans, priest."

"Enough of your blasphemy."

"I will raise corporate taxes."

Father Rockerfeller raised the crucifix. "I command you to stop."

"And get this, I'm going to tax organized religion, and by the way, yamudda sucks ducks in hell."

"Agrrr," the priest screamed, leaping across the desk to punch wildly. "Come into me, demon. I command you to come into me."

Wind howled and something exploded. Out in the hall, Laura cringed when the door opened. Father Rockerfeller stepped out, flitting eyes wide, chin dripping saliva.

"I like unions," the priest hissed, walking toward the door. "I will tax the Pope. This sow is mine."

Laura breathed a sigh of relief when she heard a voice from the room.

"Laura, bring me my Flying Aces computer game."

G. W. was back to normal. The priest had made the ultimate sacrifice, saving the Republican way of life from the horror of a talking Democratic demon.

The Presidential Exorcist: Rumor is that G.W. often became an Elvis impersonator when possessed by the demon pictured below.

Hell Vision: Fred, the Democratic Demon as imagined by Corporate-Republican propaganda

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